You'll be okay, Sharma! (bxb) ?

Raj starts driving again.
And I let him.

I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just sit there, feeling the car pull forward, feeling the weight of his words settle into my ribs like something permanent.

"No, I’m done, Dev."

He meant it.
I should let him go.

I should sit here, silent, let the night swallow whatever this was, let it disappear like it never happened.

But my fingers twitch against my jeans. My throat is closing. My chest is tightening around something I don’t have a name for.

I want to stop him.
I want to grab his wrist, yank him back, hold him close and tell him—

Tell him what?
What is there to say?

That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to ruin it? That I didn’t mean to run? That I—

I what? I want him?

That I’ve wanted him for longer than I can admit, longer than I can even understand? That every time he looks at me like I’m something worth chasing, I want to fall into it, let myself be wanted?

No.
No, I can’t.
Because wanting means taking. And taking means losing. And losing means—

Amit.

Amit kissing my cheek, calling me moon. Amit pressing his forehead to mine, laughing. Amit disappearing, vanishing into the space I made between us, because I let him. Because I pushed him.

I wanted Amit too. And look what I did to him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, press my palm against my temple. My stomach is twisting, my hands feel numb, my heart is beating so fast it hurts.

I can’t do this. I can’t.

Raj is gripping the wheel too tightly. I can see it from the corner of my eye. His knuckles pale, his jaw locked, his throat moving like he’s swallowing down everything he didn’t say.

And I want to fix it. I want to reach over, press my hand over his, make him look at me again, make him see me again—

But what if he does?
What if he sees what’s actually there?
What if he realizes that I’m not worth it?
What if I break him, too?

I clench my fists in my lap, digging my nails into my palms, trying to ground myself, trying to breathe. But nothing is working. Nothing is fucking working.

"I can’t be the only one fighting for this."

He wasn’t.
I was fighting too—I just didn’t know how.

I press my forehead against the window, watching the world blur past. My chest is too tight, too full, everything pressing in at once, but I keep my mouth shut.

I don’t stop him.
I don’t say anything.

Because I don’t deserve to. The car slows to a stop.

I blink, disoriented, like I’ve been ripped out of something I wasn’t ready to leave. The tailor’s shop. Right. That’s why we were here in the first place.

I exhale sharply, trying to steady myself, trying to remember how to exist outside of my own head. My hands feel numb as I reach for the fabric bags in the backseat, the rustling sound too loud in the quiet between us.

Raj doesn’t say anything.

He just sits there, staring straight ahead, hands still gripping the wheel like he doesn’t trust himself to let go.

I hesitate. Just for a second.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. A glance. A look. Some sign that this wrecked him as much as it’s wrecking me.